


not when we could be enemies

by cakecakecake



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>homura's been close with all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not when we could be enemies

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gross and i ship homura with everyone but especially with madoka and this is very dirty. sorry god

Silky gold wrapping about her wrists, _tick tock_ , _tick tock_. Dim candlelight and the scent of warm vanilla, the timer counting down in the kitchen. _Tick tock_ , _tick tock_. Gentle kisses dotting a trail from her ear to her collarbone, each one hitting a nerve. Forty-five seconds left and Mami's mouth is still on her breast, tongue flicking, goosebumps. Exhale, giggle. _Tick tock_. She has twenty seconds left to play and decides she'd rather not burn the cookies. 

She tells her to be a good girl and don't struggle. The tock stops ticking. It smells like comfort and joy when she blows the candles out and sets the sweets at the tea table. She won't untie her yet--Mami likes having something to look at while she feasts. She nibbles a little, crumbs falling on her chest and dark hair falls into Homura's eyes as she fidgets in her restraints. She can't tell what she's more hungry for. Satin slides down her skin and she's underneath her flesh again, warmth melting into warmth. Mami never was very patient. 

Neither was Kyouko. 

She bites, she pushes, she shoves. She hates to wait. She teases, but doesn't take well to being teased. She kisses her and it tastes like caramel and apples and that one damned tooth of hers _hurts_. It always pricks, pinches. She leaves marks every time, and she's proud. " _Hehehe, look what I've done to you_." She's heated. Seeing the splotch of blue and purple on Homura's neck makes her growl. She gets so wet so easily and Homura scoops it up with pleasure after she scolds her. What a nasty girl. _Did you kiss your mother with that mouth of yours, Kyouko?_ Her laugh stings. Homura's bent to the floor.

Don't talk about Kyouko's family when you're fucking her. She'll scar you in places you can't hide. Her hands are at Homura's throat when her fingers plunge inside. She knows just the right spot, pressing her thumb into it. No one needs a toy when Kyouko's fingers are at expense. Homura wanted to cry out, but the glutton would never stop bragging. " _Hehehe--I made you scream! Who knew you were so easy?_ " So she clutches her, holding on tight, sinking her teeth into Kyouko's neck. Salty, sweaty, hot. She tastes as good as she looks with her burgundy hair hanging down her back. She dips down to lap up the pooling warmth between Homura's legs and has no idea that she'll be crying to God in the morning, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ , but for now she whispers Homura's name like the gentlest prayer. Her saving grace riding on fervid orgasm. Homura doesn't care if they go to Hell. She's starting to think they're already there.

Sayaka thinks so too. That's why she grips so tight, like they're falling down into a black hole they'll never come up from. _Tell me it was worth it. Make me feel like Heaven could be real_. She's not the one who could possibly do that. There is no light in Homura's eyes, no warmth in her fingers. She breathes in and there's emptiness in the spaces between her ribs. Nothing about her is angelic, but Sayaka seems to disagree. At least, she does this time, in this dark alley against a cold brick wall. " _I always thought you were the most beautiful girl_." She can't remember which April night she said this, but she clung to it when she found herself cornered, left without a choice. How do you make Sayaka Miki feel important? 

Love her, of course. 

If only for a moment. At least, this time. 

Depthless pools of blue pleading for validation, acceptance. She's not strong. She's careless and hopeless and her pathetic belief in the power of justice is so rueful. But Madoka cares for her. If Madoka cares for her, she should, too. And as she looks into the spiraling pits of black in her soul gem, she wonders--How do I convince her?

It's the only time she ever does this.

She kisses her, fists in aqua hair. Sweet sighs, raspberry chapstick on her tongue. Almost perfect teeth half smiling in the dark. Her tiny waist in her grasp. Her knee between Sayaka's thighs. Flashes of lights zip by, red and green. The street lamps are poking at the fog around them, but no one can see. She holds tight to Sayaka and feels so much pity. No one can see. Her soft body quivers. _Don't make a sound, or you'll wish you hadn't found me_. Pink cotton falls around her ankles. Chest heaving. Her face is a brilliant shade of magenta. 

Hers is the only wetness Homura's ever tasted--more pleasant than she had expected. Red light, green light. This cold, dark alley is the place she learns to care. Moans soft, mellifluous. Sweet. The melody of Sayaka's pleasure going unheard by the nightlife. She licked and nipped as Sayaka sang into her nearing climax and she wondered, why was it that the boy didn't want her? 

The curves of her hips, her silky hair. The way she looms over Homura in the shadows, breath hot down her neck. They kiss sloppily, a mess of saliva and heaving and choking, desperate. So desperate. If only he knew that this was what he was missing. She still wonders, every time. She never forgets what Sayaka sounds like. Later she wonders if Kyouko will ever find out. She likes to think that she has.

She doesn't find out about Madoka. They never got to that point. There were occasions where they came close, dangerously close, and she often thinks on those special times, but no--nothing ever more than a kiss, or a hug. A brush of a hand, a sweep of hair behind an ear. Minty breath across her cheek, and sometimes, lips on her lips, on her ear, but never on her slit, never between her thighs. 

She holds Madoka's face in her hands now as she trembles, eyes gleaming, so distressed. _We will be enemies_. But there's still a chance. She makes the rules now. She kisses her because she wants to, because maybe, she loves her too. There must be a part of her that does. If she can wake that part, there'll never be anything more to worry for. So she gently, mildly presses her mouth against Madoka's in the middle of that long windowed hallway, the sound of footsteps so far off, the echo of their lips smacking piercing her eardrums. Madoka barely moves a centimeter, her eyes wide open, but she kisses back. Whether she's afraid what will happen if she doesn't reciprocate or she really wants to, she doesn't know, but she doesn't care. 

She thinks of other times where Madoka's kisses were more fervent and keeps herself from pushing too hard, but she can't repress it. Her heart's ablaze, loins quivering, and she pulls her closer and slips her tongue across Madoka's bottom lip. She wants to tell her about all those times, and maybe she will, but not now. Not yet. _Not when we could be enemies_.


End file.
